I pulled the vapor rub out of my pocket and uncapped it, praying that there would be a small bit still in the bottom of the little blue jar. One or two dabs was enough to cut the smell, and I could think straight again. The nice part about staying in your hometown was knowing the floorplans of the buildings you frequented when electricity still lit every aisle and corner. You didn't have to waste time wandering around praying that you would find the item you needed.
In my hand I held the weirdest and yet most useful find I had at the thrift store. Flashlights were a necessity but needed batteries. Not my trusty shaker flashlight. I stood there flailing my arm around for a few minutes and built up enough juice to light my way through the whole cleaning supply run. It wasn't the brightest, but damn it was convenient. I grabbed one of the carts that had been abandoned in the aisle and made my way to the back. It took less than five minutes and I was out the front door with everything I would need over the next few days.
I pulled up with my haul and Jim and Karen were waiting patiently for my return. It was awful nice of them not to get up and start attacking people. You never knew about the dead these days. They just didn't seem to have the good sense to stay dead.
"Don't you worry, Jim. I will get her all shined up and ready for the road. You won't have to be embarrassed by old Bessie anymore. All she really needs is a bit of lemon scented love."
The bandana went up before I entered the camper. I really didn't need to lose any more calories to the pavement. The apocalypse was a hell of a diet. Problem was, I had a tiny frame to begin with, so losing mass wasn't really the healthiest option for me. As I was spraying the blood-soaked carpet for the third time, I was joined by a familiar face.
"Little dude! What are you doing here?" he may understand English but thank god he wasn't talking to me yet. "Alright, now is as good of a time as any to eat lunch. Let's take it outside, though. The camper is going to need a few more days before we can eat in here."
I pulled down the fire escape ladder on the old brick building next to the camper. The metal grating right outside the second story window was hardly big enough for one person, but the squirrel and I fit just fine. From high above, I could eat and scan the area for any threats, maybe let my guard down a bit. Or maybe not, we didn't want to get crazy.
"Does this make us friends now?" I pondered out loud. "I didn't really have a ton of friends before." I trailed off with that last bit. "I might have liked to, but people were always hard for me to deal with. They never live up to your expectations, or worse, they do. I think the only person who ever really got me was my grandmother, and she knew enough to not try too hard."
The squirrel was a really good listener, but I couldn't say the same for his conversation skills. In all honesty, he seemed less concerned with me, and more with what I had in my backpack. "Fine, no deep conversations, little dude. It isn't worth dragging up the past anyway. It, like the dead, should be at rest."
I pulled out a granola bar and placed it in front of him. He just sat there on his hind legs staring at my bag. "Subtle. If you want a little variety all you have to do is ask." I said as I laughed at the idea.
If he started speaking to me, I was sending him away. I didn't care how lonely I was, I was not going to encourage the development of another neurosis. I tossed him a few beans from the can I was digging into, and he popped them into his cheeks. Then he ran up my shirt, circled my neck a few times, sniffed my ear, and then ran back off. That must have been some kind of squirrel thank you, because he grabbed the granola bar and took off after that.
"Maybe, I talk too much," I said, half insulted.
The next few days consisted of the same routine. I would wake up to his face in the window, and I would give him a treat for appearing. Then like clockwork he would show up at the camper when the sun hit the middle of the sky. He did the same weird little exit routine and would take off. He let me pet him once, but only for a second. It looked like he forgot himself.
One moment, I'm stroking his soft fur, and the next, he is frantically scanning the area below us like he lost something. I didn't try that move again. Anxiety was easy to spot when you spent a lifetime fighting it. I didn't like it when people would intentionally poke at my buttons, and I wasn't about to do that to someone else. Even if that someone else was covered in fur.
It took a few days longer than I expected to get Karen's mess up out of the camper. I wasted a few days scrubbing the same portion of carpet until I finally realized there wasn't a cleaner powerful enough in this new world that would make that smell go away. So, I ripped it up and threw an area rug down that had been sitting in the thrift store. I swear that place was a gold mine for that weird thing you suddenly needed.
"Well, Jim, that is the last bit right there. Now Bessie is ready to hit the road. All, I have to do is fill her up with all my goodies, and we are going to have to part ways. Don't cry, Karen. I know we have grown close over these last few days, but you had to have known that it wouldn't last forever. This friendship was like a candle burning. It was hot and full of life, but now it has run out of fuel. We are just going in different directions." I snorted at that last bit. It reminded me of the cheesy soap operas I used to watch with my mom. Break ups were always so melodramatic on daytime tv.
As I made my way into the thrift store, I heard things being rattled around downstairs. I was so close to leaving, and now my entire stash was in danger again. If it was a zombie, I would have to find a way to lure it out into a more open area. I knew there would be no way for me to fight and win in the piles of treasures downstairs. If it was humans, things could be even worse. Humans can think, and for the most part were much larger and more powerful than I was.
My heart was racing as I made my way silently down the steps. I peeked over the railing towards the front of the store and saw no one. Something fell and crashed to the ground on the floor in the direction of my food stash. My heart sank. Food was the only thing that I wouldn't be able to replace easily. My first hoard taught me a lesson. It could all burn to the ground, and as long as you had the important things, you could start again.
I rushed down the hall with my axe held high above my head and was startled by the team that was raiding my closet. "Little dude, what the Hell!" I yelled.
A small girl, maybe nine or ten years old, turned and screamed. The squirrel ran down from her shirt and up mine. He tugged at the cuff of my sleeve on my arm that was holding the axe. "Oh. My bad!" I fumbled with my words as I lowered the weapon.
I looked down at my furry friend with hurt in my eyes. He was stealing from me. I thought an animal would be different. My back slid down the wall as I crumpled up on the floor. Things had been going so well lately, but now this kind of betrayal shook me to the core. Now, who was being melodramatic?
"You're weird," she finally spoke.
"Excuse me. I would think that if you go around stealing other people's food that you probably shouldn't insult them, too. It seems like bad manners to me. Plus, I'm not weird, I'm sad."
"Not that," she said as she sat on the floor and offered me one of my own waters. "You talk to dead people. That's weird."
"Have you been watching me? Of course, you have. You were following me around with this little spy of yours," I said, motioning towards the squirrel. "How did you train him anyway?"
"I dunno. I found him when he was a baby, and he just does stuff. Back then my parents were with us. Dad said I couldn't get another dog. Said they eat too much and would be too loud. I found this guy and hid him in my pocket for a month before they figured out I had him. Now he is with me all the time. Dad wanted to name him Slappy. Said that was the name of a squirrel on a cartoon he used to watch. I said that was dumb and named him Frank. He looks like a Frank, right?"
And I thought I talked too much. "Sure kid." I knew better than to ask her where her parents were since she used the past tense when she brought them up. We were all orphans at this point, no matter what our age was. "You here to just steal my
stuff, or are you two sticking around?" I asked not really sure how I felt about them staying or leaving.
"We could stick around. You're weird, but not dangerous. That's if you want us to." She scratched Frank's head as he tucked himself into her shirt pocket.
"Well, I can't have you shopping in my pantry and not paying off your debt. We are going to be busy for the next few days. I'm not staying here much longer, and you can decide if you want to come along for the ride after we spend some time together. You might decide my kind of weird is annoying," I said as I grabbed dinner for the three of us.
"I'm thirteen. Weird and annoying are kinda my thing," she said.
"Thirteen! Damn, you're small!" I blurted out, covering my mouth as I realized I just cursed at a kid.
"You're not too big yourself. Don't worry though, I can keep up. Small isn't always bad. We taking the camper out of town once you put your supplies in it?" She asked.
"How do you know about my camper? Oh, geez! I knew someone was following me. I thought it was just Frank. I should have known a squirrel wouldn't have set off my creeper sense."
"Yeah, small works when you're following someone. The smaller you're the better. I was the hide and seek champion of my elementary school before all this happened." She was obviously proud of herself.
We spent the next few hours doing the small talk thing while we ate and set up an extra bed for her to bunk in the office with me. The two of them had been sleeping in random cars since she lost her parents. Frank had kept her nourished by running the same con he had run on me. Rayna followed behind him, but never revealed herself. She would work out the schedule people kept, and then raid their food when she was sure they wouldn't be around. She had gotten sloppy with me because she didn't fear me.
I probably should have been angrier that they were planning on robbing me blind, but she was just trying to stay alive, and it was nice to have someone to talk to. Sometimes things just work out the way they were supposed to all along. The extra set of hands made loading up the camper that much easier, and while we were at work, Frank stood lookout on the top of our new rolling palace. His head scanned back and forth all day as he sat upright on his hind legs.
"So, he just acts that way with no training?" I stood in the doorway looking up at our tiny centurion.
"Yeah, weird, right?" She replied, arms overloaded with the last bit of gear from the office.
Turns out the camper was a perfect fit for the three of us. Rayna was small enough to use the bunk above the driver's head. Something that had just been storage when Jim and Karen were using Bessie. My stuff went to the back where the only bedroom was located. As we moved our things in, I tried to curb the voice telling me to bring all of my items. The living were more important than the inanimate. My area was overflowing, but the common space was clean. It was the best I could do.
Frank had a cabinet fit for a squirrel king. Rayna had taken one day off from helping me load up the camper to scavenge around for pint sized pieces of furniture to put in the overhead compartment that was closest to her bed. I knew for the most part that it would be wasted time, since he never left her side, but it was nice to see her act like a kid, even if it was only for a moment in time. What she ended up creating was a squirrel sized studio apartment, with a couch, bed, and desk. I guess even squirrels needed a place to sit and write out their thoughts.
The last thing I needed to put into the camper was my cookie jar. I was in the thrift store with Rayna doing one last sweep when we heard Frank squeaking frantically outside. I ran to the window and looked down into what should have been an empty parking lot. There was a small group running across the blacktop with a horde of the undead following behind them. They were not going fast enough to get away. Both of the men were limping, and the woman was trying to hold one of them up enough for them to keep moving.
"Leave me, Ann. You have to leave me, and Doug!" he said. "We are all going to die!"
"No, Stan! If you guys die, I die. I can't do this alone! If you want me to live, you're just going to have to move faster. Let's go!" She pulled him along, as their companion limped behind them but the horde was getting closer.
"We have to help them!" Rayna tugged at my shirt.
I was frozen. I didn’t know those people. What if they weren't safe to be around? I already took in a girl and her pet. Wasn't that enough?
"Avery!" She was dragging me across the room.
"Rayna, think! We don't know them! You and I are really small, and don't have much to defend ourselves. What if it is a trick?"
"How could it be a trick? They're going to die! They're hurt!" She pleaded. "I'm going to get them in the camper!" She said as she took off.
"Damn it! Fine!" I shouted, pushing past her as we hit the back door. "Let me go first."
The cookie jar rattled in my backpack as I tried to sneak down the alleyway. Rayna followed close behind me, hoping not to alert the dead that we were in the area. We needed to get to the group, and somehow use our tiny bodies to each lift a full-grown man into the camper a hundred feet away. Sure, easy peasy. Somewhere along the line, my small grasp on controlling the chaos around me had been severed. As I turned the corner, the sight of the trio and the horde chasing them set off an anxiety attack.
"Rayna, we need to go. There are too many of them, and they're too close to them. I can't do this. We need to leave." I staggered towards the camper and not the commotion.
"Coward!" She yelled after me. "Leave without me then. I'm going to save them." Frank ran across the parking lot and up to her shoulder. The two of them were going to take on a sea of zombies themselves.
My head was swimming from a lack of oxygen. Each gasp brought in less and less lifegiving air. I was going to die right there in the parking lot without getting to the camper. I was going to die, and it would have all been for nothing. Count backwards from ten. I could hear my mother's voice trying to calm me. Deep slow breaths. Feel the ground beneath you, solid and strong.
I could think straight again. In front of me was one of the shopping carts we had used to get all of our supplies into the camper. It was a metal chariot waiting to be used to save us all. I gripped the handle and took off towards Stan and his busted leg. Rayna was already there trying to get Doug to move faster with no luck. Without a word, I shoved Stan into the cart headfirst and whipped back around towards the camper.
He screamed in pain with each bump and pot hole we hit. There was no time to adjust him for comfort. Rayna gave up on Doug and grabbed Ann's hand. The two of them chased behind me to the camper. I slammed the cart into the side of our home and knocked it over on its side. Stan toppled out onto the pavement screaming obscenities at me. Behind us Doug was overrun by the horde. His screams overpowered Stan’s profanities, and I used that opportunity to get this mess back on track.
"Get in if you want to live!" I shouted back.
Rayna pulled the door behind her, and with a turn of the key, we were suddenly a party of five on a road trip to an unknown destination. "Avery," Rayna tried to apologize from the rear.
"Don't!" I huffed not ready to discuss what just happened. "Don't anyone talk. Rayna shore up the openings."
“Where’s Doug?” Ann cried out as we got ready to pull away. “We can’t leave without him. He is all alone. No one should be alone.”
God, I wish I was.
The camper was a bit flimsy for my taste, so I had rigged up a mixture of chain link and plywood covers that could be secured from the inside. Backwards from ten, I thought as I turned the key. The engine growled to life. Plowing through the dead was easier than I had expected. As long as I advanced slowly, they were just bumps in the road and then a red smear under my tires. Frank had snuck his way onto my shoulder. I guess he was self-appointed as co-pilot.
"Well, little dude, I blame you for all of this. It's a good thing you're cute," I said as I broke off a small piece of granola bar and handed it to him, then flicked the bluebird charm hanging from the rearview mirror.
/> About Valerie Lioudis
Valerie Lioudis is an author who writes both novels and short stories in several genres, but her main focus is horror. The New Jersey native penned The Many Afterlives of John Robert Thompson, her debut solo novel, in 2017. Along with her husband Kristopher, she had already published book one in the Aftershock Zombie Series in 2014. She loves the art of writing a short story and has been published in 10 anthologies, most notably Undead Worlds. The Reanimated Writers, a group of indie zombie fiction authors, created a best-selling anthology that featured 22 undead worlds. Valerie spearheaded the project, along with several other endeavors including the Reanimated Rumble with this online community. She hangs out in The Reanimated Writers Facebook Group, and will talk to just about anyone, so join and say hello! If you are looking for her books, they are available on Amazon. If you type Valerie Lioudis, you will find her. She is the only one!
5
Inception
by Jessica Gomez
My eyes pinch close as a blinding light strips my vision. There’s a pregnant pause before chaos ensues, engulfing me, while screaming reverberates through the air. My heart pounds against my ribcage, understanding that everything has changed in this one instant. I gather enough courage to open my eyes and look around.
My mother is no longer standing to my left, but slumped lifelessly on the ground, her shopping bags clutched in her hands. The scenery is hazy, with a white film blanketing our surroundings, as if a nightmare has highjacked my reality. Emotions intrude, slamming against me from multiple directions, relaying fear, confusion, and undeniable panic.
“What the hell?” The words tumble from my lips as shock roots me in place. Almost every person around us has dropped to the ground in contorted piles, their lives suddenly snuffed out. There are few people left standing, some twitching at awkward angles, while others sob and scream. My own terror acts as a glass of ice water thrown in my face. Squatting down to my mom’s motionless form, I shake her. “Mom! Are you okay? Mom!”
Undead Worlds 2: A Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Anthology Page 4